


hold back the river

by carefulren



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Illnesses, Pneumonia, Sickfic, Whump, and tony is a sudden emergency contact thanks to ned, basically ned is an mvp bff, don't mind me just over here writing some peter sickfics, this is the product of three tumblr prompts combined
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-10
Updated: 2017-08-10
Packaged: 2018-12-13 12:17:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11759688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carefulren/pseuds/carefulren
Summary: Peter takes an unfortunate plunge in the Hudson, and it's okay because he's fine.Until he's not.





	hold back the river

Peter’s web breaks as he’s mid swing over the Hudson River, and he has just enough time to mutter out a sharp “shit” before he’s plunging toward the water with no time to shoot another web.   
  
His body hits the water with a loud smack, and he’s sinking toward the bottom before the gears in his mind can turn toward the safety answer of “swim.” The water around him is cool and murky, and it has his mask plastered uncomfortably to his face, feeling almost as if a second, more damp, layer of skin. He hooks two fingers underneath it and slips it up and over, only to have the fabric push hard at his pressed lips until they part just wide enough for water to shoot into his mouth and down his throat. 

A horrid, grimy taste fills his mouth, and he begins to kick his legs rapidly, shooting his body upward. He breaks surface with a series of harsh coughs that bring up river water that’s been burning along his chest. He spits and sputters before swimming toward land with trembling limbs, and when he pulls himself up on the bank, he collapses against the grass, chest swelling and rising in large pants. 

“Karen,” he rasps out with a few weaker coughs. “Could you tell me next time that that web isn’t strong enough for swinging?"   
  
 _"Of course. Sorry, Peter. Would you like me to activate the dryer?”_    
  
“Yes,” Peter says, voice almost pleading, and moments later, a comfortable warmth spreads all across his body. He flips onto his back to stare at the sky streaked in soft pinks as day slowly fades to night. Maybe today didn’t go as planned, but this whole hero thing is a learning experience. Right?   
  
*****  
  
A few days later and Peter wakes for school feeling off, not alarmingly slow, but just… off. His muscles ache, and his first instinct is to pin this on the pain that comes from overexertion, but the dull thumping along his temples shuts that idea down fairly fast.   
  
He sits up slowly, bones popping and cracking from movement, and groans while rubbing both hands up and down his face. He takes note to the cool skin brushing against his palms and finds himself relieved that he can rule out a fever at least.   
  
He spares a glance toward his desk littered with school books and lets a light sigh slip past his lips as he swings his legs over the bed and gets to his feet, tossing his arms above his head in a long stretch that leaves his muscles protesting enough to where he rolls his shoulders as he starts toward the bathroom to shower.   
  
*****  
  
“You okay, dude?"   
  
"What?” Peter questions as he slides into his seat of his and Ned’s shared first class.   
  
“You look pale."   
  
"I had to do a double take because I thought Casper walked through the door."   
  
Peter narrows his eyes and looks past Ned to see MJ sticking her tongue out at him. "I’m fine,” he draws out with a sigh as he turns to get his book out of his backpack. “Probably just coming down with a cold."   
  
He leans back up and drops his book down on his desk before turning back to see Ned watching him with furrowed brows.   
  
"What?” Peter asks with a slightly clipped voice.   
  
“Should you call May…?"   
  
"Why would I do that?” Peter questions, brows pulled together. “I’m not going to interrupt May while she’s on vacation because of a small cold. I can take care of myself, you know."   
  
"You don’t exactly have the best track record when it comes to self-preservation,” MJ points out, waving her pencil about as she leans forward and forces herself back into the conversation.   
  
A counter-argument is hot on Peter’s tongue, but their teacher picks that moment to walk into the classroom. Peter shoots the two a look he hopes displays a silent “enough” and turns in his seat to face the front of the room.   
  
*****  
  
Peter turns to cough harshly into the crook of his arm before he resumes stirring the pot of mac and cheese on the stove.   
  
“Dude, you’re gonna contaminate my food.” Ned says from his spot at Peter’s kitchen table.   
  
“I’m going to kick you out if you say one more word,” Peter spits out, voice holding a tinge of a rasp. He moves his wrist in a circular motion to stir, but even that slight movement leaves his entire arm burning with a deep ache that matches the rest of his body. He hurts. Well, everything hurts for that matter. He’s been getting steadily worse as the school day progressed, and when he started coughing during lunch, he knew he was a goner.   
  
“Why don’t you let me cook?” Ned tries, interrupting Peter’s thoughts with a soft voice laced in concern.   
  
“Because you will burn it,” Peter says, eyes remaining forward. He can feel Ned’s studied gaze on his back, leaving his shoulders tensing up as he grips the wooden spoon harder. He hates this. He hates being sick, and he really hates when people dote on him as if he’s a frail infant. In the back of his mind, he knows Ned means well, but he just wishes that people wouldn’t creep around him as if walking on glass anytime he gets even remotely sick.   
  
As if to punctuate his thoughts, his lungs tremble with a series of coughs that claw up his throat and have him letting go of the spoon to turn away and cough over and over into the crook of his elbow. He entire body shakes with the force of each cough, and he’s dimly aware that he’s being led to the table by a steady hand to his back.   
  
Relief washes all across his muscles when he’s pushed gently into a chair, and he’s just catching his breath when Ned’s voice pierces through the cloudiness coating his mind.   
  
“I’ll finish cooking, Peter. Okay? Just… Just like sit here and rest or whatever."   
  
Peter can only nod, still gasping for breath, as Ned takes his place in front of the stove. He runs a shaking hand across the back of his neck, frowning slightly at the faint heat. Great, he thinks, mentally checking fever to his growing list of symptoms. He folds his arms atop the table and drops his head onto them, drifting off until he’s nudged awake what feels like only seconds later.   
  
His head feels like a giant piece of lead on his neck as he slowly lifts it, blinking against the haziness coating his vision until he spots a bowl in front of him.   
  
"You’re supposed to eat soup when you’re sick."   
  
Peter picks up the spoon and swirls it about the noodles for an endless moment until he finally drags a half-amused gaze to Ned’s face. "Ramen?"   
  
"It’s all you have,” Ned spits out, voice defensive, and Peter cracks a smile and drops his gaze back to the soup.   
  
“Thanks, man."   
  
"Of course,” Ned says, pulling the chair across from Peter out and flopping into it.   
  
*****  
  
“You are sure you’ll be okay?”  
  
Peter crosses his arms and breathes out a deep sigh. “Have you always been this mother hen like, and I’ve just never noticed?‘   
  
Ned huffs and matches Peter’s stance. "I’m just worried about you, dude. You are crap at taking care of yourself."   
  
"Why does everyone keep saying that?” Peter grumbles as a sharp chill shoots up his spine and leaves him shuddering. In a second, Ned is in his face and slapping a palm to his forehead for the tenth time in the last hour.   
  
“You’re warmer than before."   
  
A loud groan creeps up Peter’s throat, and he throws the apartment door open and motions widely to the hallway. "Goodbye, Ned."   
  
Ned shuffles into the hallway but snaps a worried gaze over his shoulder. "You will call me if you need something, right?"   
  
"Yes,” Peter says, drawing out the word along a string of annoyance. He watches as Ned reluctantly walks down the hallway before he closes the door and sags against it with a few harsh coughs that shake his entire frame. When the coughing tampers off, he lets out a second, much weaker groan and shuffles toward his bedroom, falling face first onto his bed and nodding off almost instantly.   
  
*****  
  
It feels like only seconds until Peter is pulled from sleep by the loud shrill of his alarm. He blindly reaches for it, muscles screaming in protest, and smacks around until he finally silences the loud sound piercing through his already pounding head.   
  
“Shit,” he rasps out, and that one word is enough to spark a fire in his lungs. Next thing he knows, he’s shooting into a sitting position and doubling over as a violent coughing fit tugs at his lungs and scrapes up his throat. It lasts for minutes on end. He can feel his already heated face growing red, and his eyes brim with tears, but he can do nothing but cough and try to suck in small gasps of breath in between.   
  
When the fit finally tampers off, he pants and rubs at his burning, tight chest. It hurts, he thinks. More than it should for a cold.   
  
He should skip school and take the day to sleep off whatever the hell this is turning into, but he’s got two tests today. And, everyone knows make up tests are ten times harder than the originals.   
  
He pulls himself out of bed, entire body shaking from a deep set of chills that contrast the sweat clinging to his face, and stumbles toward the bathroom, hoping that a hot shower will help him feel more human.   
  
However, twenty minutes later, and he still feels just as bad as before. His chest feels as if it’s on fire, and breathing is suddenly an issue. Just walking across the apartment is leaving him winded, and he’s annoyed because he’s a hero for crying out loud. He shouldn’t have to be dealing with stupid illnesses like this.   
  
He layers on clothes, still feeling properly chilled despite it only being September, and shrugs his backpack over his shoulders with a barking cough before he starts out of the apartment toward school.   
  
*****  
  
Peter’s vision blurs as he slowly places his books into his locker. He has no idea how he even made it to school. Actually, he can’t remember walking here at all, and he wants to find that incredibly concerning, but he’s too tired to care much about anything. He sucks in a wheezing breath that turns into a series of coughs that mask Ned’s arrival.   
  
“Okay, dude, no. You’re going to the nurse. Why are you even here?"   
  
Peter braces one hand against his locker as he coughs and coughs, lungs swelling and constricting against the illness. Tight heat spreads across his chest, and when he’s finally able to catch a small breath, he sags against the locker and shakes his head.   
  
"Tests,” he wheezes out.   
  
“Well, you look like you are seconds from dropping into a coffin, so we’re going to the nurse.” Ned says as he grabs Peter’s arm, and Peter can’t even fight against his friend’s grip as he’s pulled toward the nurse’s office.   
  
The nurse takes one look at him and ushers the two inside and to a small, empty cot. She’s quick to find a thermometer as Ned helps Peter onto the bed.   
  
Peter sits on the edge of the bed with his arms wrapped around his trembling frame as he tries to get his breathing under control. Just the walk to the nurse’s office left his lungs feeling tired, and he sucks in small, choppy breaths as the nurse pushes an ear thermometer into his ear.   
  
The second the device beeps, the nurse lets out a sharp gasp, and Ned peers over to get a quick glance at the 103.4 degree reading.   
  
“I need to call your aunt to come get you, Mr. Parker."   
  
"She’s…. out of town,” Peter manages in between weak coughs that steal his breath.   
  
“An emergency contact?"   
  
Peter shakes his head just as Ned chimes in.   
  
"You could call Mr. Stark."   
  
Peter’s entire body goes rigid just as the nurse flushes a deep red.   
  
"No.” Peter says firmly despite the wheeze in his tone. “He’s busy.” He adds, but his words fall against deaf ears as Ned and the nurse discuss quietly with one another.   
  
“I’ll go give him a call,” the nurse says with a dazed smile as she shuffles out of the room, and Peter shoots Ned a sharp gaze.   
  
“Dude, what the hell?"   
  
"You need help, Peter. Mr. Stark can provide that."   
  
Peter’s counter-argument is cut off by another coughing fit that spreads like fire against his chest and punctuates his pounding head. He feels himself being pushed gently into a reclined position on the cot, and he curls onto his side, drawing his knees to his chest as he coughs and coughs.   
  
"Just hang in there, Peter. Mr. Stark will be here soon."   
  
Those are the last words Peter hears before he’s pulled into a creeping darkness.   
  
*****  
  
"-flu or something."   
  
Peter cracks an eye open and strains his eye against blurry vision until he spots the nurse and Tony Stark standing in the doorway. He shifts his gaze, but Ned is nowhere in sight.   
  
He pushes up on one shaking elbow and blinks rapidly, and only a second later, Tony is in front of the cot and staring down at him.   
  
"What’s wrong, kid?"   
  
Peter considers this, considers all of the possible answers, before he shakes his head. "I don’t know,” he whispers, hoping a quieter tone will help keep the pressure in his chest at bay.   
  
Tony’s face twitches as full concern threatens to take hold, and he tilts his head slightly. “Can you walk?"   
  
It takes Peter a solid minute to move until his legs are hanging over the bed, and when he slowly slides to his feet, he stumbles instantly and would have fallen to the floor if not for Tony’s rapid reflexes.   
  
Tony wraps a strong, steady arm around Peter’s trembling shoulders, and Peter can’t help but lean into the comforting warmth as he coughs harshly.   
  
"Geez, kid. You really must be sick,” Tony says, voice holding an unfamiliar air of concern that Peter just barely picks up on.   
  
“I’ve got it from here,” Tony tells the nurse as he snags Peter’s backpack before starting out the door with his arm still wrapped tightly around Peter’s swaying frame.   
  
They are only two steps into the hallway before Peter has to stop to catch his breath around harsh coughs. “I can’t,” he tries weakly. “My chest."   
  
Tony’s brows pull together in a clear show of concern, and he nods quickly. "We’ll go slow.” He reassures Peter, and the two start the very slow trek out of the school and to Tony’s red, flashy car.   
  
*****  
  
Peter is pulled from sleep by a rhythmic beeping sound, and the fragmented pieces of his mind slide together to come to one thought: what the hell?   
  
He pries his eyes open and winces at the bright light, and moments later, the lights fade into a low dim.   
  
“You’re awake."   
  
Peter tenses and slides a quick gaze to see Tony standing by the light switch. He opens his mouth to say something, but Tony shakes his head and taps at his mouth.   
  
"No talking with the oxygen mask. How are you feeling?"   
  
Peter considers this before he shrugs. He doesn’t feel nearly as bad as before, but he’s still not great by any means. He just feels tired, and he aches all over.   
  
"It took three medical specialists to determine your diagnosis of Legionnaires’ Disease."   
  
Frowning, Peter wracks his brain, but even his fairly exceptional medical knowledge can’t pull an answer from that. He cocks his head slightly to the side in question.   
  
"Lung infection. You take a dip in any rivers or lakes recently?"   
  
Peter’s face falls, and he drops an embarrassed gaze to the bed with a slight nod.   
  
"You should really stop doing that."   
  
Peter shoots a sharp gaze back toward Tony, hoping that his eyes display a silent "I didn’t do it on purpose."   
  
Tony ignore this and crosses the room back to his chair he’s got pulled to the side of the bed. "Seriously. Steve chewed me out on the phone for twenty minutes when I told him. He kept saying it’s my job to take care of you and yada, yada.” Tony says with a slight wave of the hand.   
  
Peter frowns deeply at this. He parts his lip, apology burning in his mouth, but Tony shakes his head sharply.   
  
“I know, I know. You’re so sorry for causing me trouble. Save it and rest, kid."   
  
Peter nods once and allows his eyes to slip closed. A flutter of guilt is pushing across his chest, but his exhaustion pulls harder, and he’s drifting before his mind can process. He’s just teetering the line of awake and asleep when he feels a large hand cup his.   
  
"You’ve got to stop doing this to me, kid. I’m not sure how much more this old body can handle.”  
  
Tony’s voice is quiet, worried, and it’s the last thing Peter hears before he slips over the line and falls asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> enjoy guys :)


End file.
